


Good Old Fashioned Romeo

by Lexitennant2



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: I felt like I was on crack as I wrote the ending, I'm a sucker for Queen, Idiots in Love, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, this might be a crack fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 11:02:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20134384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexitennant2/pseuds/Lexitennant2
Summary: Crowley has been pinning relentlessly after one oblivious principality, so he decides to be brave and in his own way finally admit that he's in love with Aziraphale. Aka serenading him with Queen. Except Aziraphale is still learning that The Velvet Underground - and by extension Queen - is not bepop, so Crowley kicks it up a notch and recites a Queen song in the form of a Shakespearean sonnet.





	Good Old Fashioned Romeo

The term _flash bastard_ is defined in the dictionary as British slang for someone who is a rich person that exhibits bad taste. An example would be a young man who's money most certainly comes from being a trust fund baby, and spends most of the night at the party checking his watch so everyone can see his new Rolex.

There is also a saying, that if you looked inside the dictionary for the term _flash bastard_, you would find an image of one Anthony J Crowley next to it. This saying is expressed mostly by any demons that cross paths with him. 

And any unfortunate human that comes across him.

He always had an _extra _something about him that would make people do a double take - that was interpreted as good or bad depending on the person. Crowley had always liked the finer things that life had to offer. He only had time for the finest of fabrics, and the best tailors of London. He mostly miracled his clothes on him, fashioning them into the envy of anyone who understood the fashion world, and even those who pulled fashion taboos like socks and sandals. But every now and then he treated himself to a human fitting so he could see what was in style.

It helped that he had expensive and finer tastes, because that meant he could catch bigger prey. Walking around as a _flash bastard, _meant he could slide up to a high ranking official and tempt him into accepting a bribe; catch the eye of a young woman who had a righteous upbringing and tempt her to join him at raunchy bars and questionable clubs.

Head office was very pleased that the level 600 demon was so versed in tempting that they always sent him notes about promotions. But this is Hell, so any promotion they thought of giving him was just that - a thought. Crowley wasn't particularly fond of his job - at all - but it was a job, and failing at his job would mean discorporation at best, so he learned to pleased about any high praises from head office.

It also annoyed Hastur and Ligur, so that was a bonus.

But there was something that Hell, and the humans of the world didn't know about Crowley.

If you looked up the definition of _contradiction, _you would find a similarity between that definition and _flash bastard, _they both shared the image of Anthony J Crowley. 

For even though the evidence before us shows that he's all for the highest in quality of clothes; and by extension decor, cars, etc. He is very much so a walking contradiction.

When he's with Aziraphale, or keeping too himself in his flat, he is the complete opposite. He doesn't sleep in an obsidian black pajama set, but rather a navy blue tartan one Aziraphale had given him one Christmas in the 1600's. His flat was decorated sparsely and with a modern minimalist vision of black and white, but it wasn't his personal style, it was more to distance himself from the clutter of hell, and remind him of the persona he needed to use for tempting. His bedroom was covered in soft brown blankets, and reflected the bookshop. He happily drank wine out of a mug, rather than a tumblr made of fine cut glass. His taste in foods were not like Aziraphale's - sugary crepes with dark chocolate, or duck liver patte's. He indulged in horrid greasy spoon food, and high calorie frappes from Starbucks.

Why bring up these two terms? Because when it came to seducing his angel, he did not want to do it with extravagant gifts like diamond cuffs or offering to buy Aziraphale a mansion in the upper crust of London, he wanted to seduce his angel in small ways that could be built up slowly. He wasn't buying Aziraphale's love, he was _earning _it.

Though Crowley was a tempter, and a demon, when it came to Aziraphale, he was at a bit of a loss at what to do. He could search the world for exclusive books or buy 10,000 worth of cocoa for Aziraphale's hot chocolate, but Crowley had read in a magazine that people especially took a liking to gifts from the heart because they showed how much care and effort the giver was willing to give up for the recipient. This was another contradiction because Crowley knew so many humans loved the materialistic gifts but he was in no place to judge.

So, with his mind set on the seduction of his angel in a rather human way, rather than a demon way, he bought a cookbook.

Because he and the angel had been around since before the dawn of creation, many things had come and go before their eyes. One such thing had been a terrific tasting dish they'd shared one evening somewhere in a small village in Norway. The recipe had been lost once many, many, moons ago, once the holder had died. But Crowley was sure if he studied enough cookbooks that had similar recipes to the dish they'd had, he'd be able to replicate it. 

There was a rather large significance to the dish he was making, and he hoped his angel would pick up on the subtle hint. While in most situations, Crowley could let his bravado carry him, the matters of the heart were another story. While he wanted to shout from the rooftops the love for his angel, he was in fear of further rejection, even without their respective bosses breathing down their necks anymore, so he would avoid telling Aziraphale directly that he loved him until he was absolutely sure that the angel felt the same way.

So Crowley asked the angel to come over to his flat in a weeks time so he could give Aziraphale a surprise. The angel had been delighted, and had hesitantly asked to make sure they'd still be meeting in the days leading up to the end of the week. Crowley hid a smile at how clingy the angel had become after the apocalypse - ignoring the fact that he was the same way- and assured Aziraphale that they would still have lunches together and retire in the bookshop for drinks well into the night. 

He now had a week to prepare the dish, and as Crowley hadn't properly thought this through, he spent most of the week in his kitchen trying to make the old dish. He had promised Aziraphale that they would still meet up, but he was finding it harder to do because he was an easily frustrated person.

He had made sixty something versions of the same recipe and now had only two days to go before Aziraphale was to come to his flat. He had to deny further outings with the angel so he could put more time into the recipe. 

After staying up the last two days - which shouldn't be a big deal because he was a demon, and demons didn't _need_ sleep, but he'd been in the habit of going to bed every night for a few hours so his corporeal form was going into frenzy from not having sleep - he finally made the recipe. It was perfect, tasted exactly as it had all those years again...ok maybe that was a lie, there was defiantly much more sugar but he knew his angel liked things extra sweet. That might have also led to the change in color of the pudding filled pastry, but he didn't have much time to think about that because he collapsed to the floor in a heap of exhaustion, and he was snoring within seconds.

* * *

Crowley woke with a dull pain in his temple from where his head had hit the tiled floor. His tongue flicked out of its own accord and the smell of vanilla and old paperbacks assaulted him, overtaking the smell of baked goods in the kitchen. 

He bolted upright, right before a knock came to the door. He wildly looked around the kitchen and miracled away the mess of floor from the counters, and hid away the dessert behind a potted plant on the kitchen island. He then smoothed out his outfit, gave a large yawn, and strutted over to the door.

He opened it and let a small smile make its way onto his face as he came face to face with the angel who had four bottles of Chardonnay cradled in his arms. 

"Hello dear boy, I hope you don't mind that I brought some of my stash." He smiled brightly, and followed Crowley into the living room.

The first time Aziraphale had been to the flat, it had been the night of their switch. They'd stayed in the living room, combining their thoughts about what to do over some of Crowley's finest wines. His collection was nowhere near as extensive as Aziraphale's so he was grateful that the angel had brought some over.

The only change to the living room had been the addition of a rather tall bonsai tree that had wormed its way into Crowely's heart and out of the plant room. Aziraphale politely cooed over it and complimented how well taken care of it was, which left the demon and plant blushing messes.

"Let me go get the glasses." Crowley rushed out of the room, and forced the blushing to stop as he grabbed two glasses from the kitchen cabinets and brought them back into the living room.

Aziraphale had already made himself at home, sitting straight backed on Crowley's leather sofa. Crowley set the glasses down and stood awkwardly as Aziraphale filled the glasses. Normally Aziraphale was sat in his own high backed chair, and Crowley was free to dominate the threadworn sofa in the bookshop. But here in Crowley's flat, there was only one sofa and nothing else because it was only ever him at the flat.

Until now.

He perched on the edge of the couch's arm rest, crossed his legs, uncrossed them, and slid down onto the couch's cushions and tried to appear nonchalant as he tried to spread himself out without getting in the angel's personal space.

"So, what is this surprise - dear what ever are you doing?" Aziraphale's eyes boggled as Crowley started sliding off the couch. His seating position had made him sit half on and half off the couch, and the side that wasn't on the couch was fed up with not having anything to support it. Crowley pulled himself up and gave an embarrassed cough. 

"Sorry, was jus' trying to get comfortable. You were saying?"

"You invited me over for a surprise." Aziraphale prompted, reaching for his glass.

Crowley swallowed thickly and jumped off the couch, startling the angel enough to make him drop his wineglass on the ground.

"Crowley!" He scolded.

"Right, m' sorry. Surprise, let me get you the surprise." Crowley slithered off into the kitchen and smacked his head once into the fridge. He was acting like an idiot, and utter fool. He wondered grabbed the plate with the pastry from behind the Bonsai and tried to gather his confidence back. 

His confidence was back to level zero when he returned to Aziraphale with the plate behind his back, and the angel reminded him to take his sunglasses off.

He let out an irritated his and removed one hand off the plate so he could take his sunglasses off and lay them gently on the end table.

It was a ridiculous request that had started once the apocalypse-that-wasn't didn't happen, but Crowley was powerless to say no to his angel, and Aziraphale always gave the best smile whenever Crowley did something that pleased him.

Crowley presented the pastry with a flourish, looking at the angel expectantly.

Aziraphale's smile grew confused. "A pastry my dear? We couldn't go out and eat it? Is this from that new bake shop that opened down the street? I've been wanting to try it-"

"I made it." Crowley shifted from foot to foot. 

Aziraphale blinked in astonishment.

"You made it?"

"Yup." Crowley popped the p. "Well go on, try it." He sat the plate down in Aziraphale's lap and miracled a fork for the angel to take.

The angel was still in a state of shock as he took a small bite.

"Oh." He said staring down at the plate with undisguised happiness. Crowley felt some of his anxiety disappear and he sat down next to his angel, hyperaware that their legs were now touching, but also not caring because he was enthralled by how Aziraphale was eating the pastry.

"I must ask, why have you gotten into baking all of a sudden? Is this why you were distant this week?" Aziraphale asked around a large bite.

Crowley squared his shoulders back and eased into a more stretched out position as he shrugged. 

"I figured I'd give you a special treat." He let his tongue flick out when Aziraphale made eye contact with him, and was pleased to see a faint blush on the angel's cheeks.

"Was there a particular reason you made this? It's absolutely scrumptious."

Aziraphale finished the pastry and Crowley's eyes followed the angel's tongue as he licked away crumbs from his lips.

"We haven't had it in ages", he said distractedly.

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. "We've had it before?" He questioned hesitantly.

Crowley faltered.

"You don't remember?" He shifted a bit in his seat and avoided Aziraphale's gaze as best as he could, wishing his sunglasses were on his face.

"I'm sorry I don't dear." Aziraphale set the empty plate on the table and tried to meet Crowley's eye.

Crowley knew his eyes must be betraying some sort of emotion so he leaned forward and popped his glasses on, ignoring the disapproving look the angel gave him and cutting him off before he could remind Crowley about their new arrangement of the demon not wearing his glasses when they were alone.

"Bloody hard to find the recipe let me tell you." He let the words roll off his tongue with no hint that he'd spent the entire week stressing over it and assaulting his tastebuds with every failure. He drained the wine from his glass and refilled quickly.

"Good you liked it, but I don't think I'll be baking for a while." 

He knew Aziraphale was becoming more suspicious the more Crowley acted as if his eyes hadn't shown hurt moments before.

"Now update me on that customer of yours that keeps hovering outside your shop. Why you haven't miracled him away or even called the cops on him is beyond me."

Aziraphale allowed the subject change, and Crowley let his words wash over him as he wondered what he could do next. He felt stupid for feeling hurt that Aziraphale hadn't remembered the dessert, and felt foolish that he hadn't prodded further or explained the significance to his angel of said dessert. But once again, fear had over come him, and if Aziraphale didn't remember the moment that did that mean the memory had meant little to him?

Crowley made the proper noises and head nods as Aziraphale told him about the customer, sipping his wine between noises of affirmation and sympathy.

With his eyes hidden behind his sunglasses, the angel had no idea how far away Crowley had crept into his mind.

* * *

Norway, somewhere in the fourth century, was hardly habited and bitterly cold. 

Crowley had gone to perform a demonic miracle -and curse his cold-bloodedness- had ended up holed up in an equivalent of an Inn for those times. The first few days he'd been in a coma under piles and piles of blankets and quilts that someone had covered him in.

He'd woken to a bowl of warm soup and fresh bread on the nightstand by his bed.

There was also a curious young girl watching him from the corner of the room.

He'd kept his eyes on her as he ate, and said thank you in the native tongue, the words sounded awkward for he was a demon and demons didn't say thank you to nice deeds. But these were different circumstance for many reasons. 1. Crowley was horrible at being a demon a lot of the time, and 2. He had a soft spot for children. The words were awkward from disuse and the fact that the language was new to him and rather hard to speak.

The girl took his bowl once he'd finished and left the room without speaking a word.

Once he was feeling better, he wrapped himself up in a few of the quilts, and left what he figured was a sizable amount of money for the food, the room, and the price of the quilts he was stealing.

He was halfway out the door when he realized that the girl hadn't screamed away from him in terror. He'd lost his sunglasses somewhere out in the frozen tundra.

This thought made him stumble and he smacked his foot rather loudly against the door.

There was a pattering of feet and a hand clasped onto his elbow.

"You are in no condition to leave." The girl said.

She couldn't have been more than fifteen years of age, and even thinner than Crowley, but her grip was strong and sure.

"I have a job to do." He made to move but the girl shook her head.

"No job if you die out in the snow."

Crowley went to object and took notice that she wasn't looking at him, but rather a little to his left. That explained why she hadn't run from him in horror, she was blind.

"You're also stealing my quilts."

"I paid for them, left the money on the bed." Crowley said weakly.

The girl shook her head again and tugged him back inside.

"Terrible weather coming in from the North, don't be an idiot." She left it at that and walked away to the check in area.

Crowley closed the door behind him and huffed his way back upstairs. Too be truthful, he didn't want to have to go out again in the weather, and a slap on the wrist from head office for being late was less worrisome than freezing out in the cold. He wasn't even sure he'd be able to discorporate, or be stuck in the ice until it became warmer.

They mostly stayed out of each others way, only interacting during meal times which Crowley felt was polite to do.

He should have been causing her misfortune, as a demon should, but he didn't have the heart for it. He really was a poor excuse for a demon.

The girl - Ingeborg - had been right, and a blizzard ended up rolling in. He thanked Satan that he was indoors and decided to go downstairs to maybe try and engage in some conversation with the girl. He was getting rather lonely. He was a social demon, and staying cooped up in his room was making him stir crazy.

This moment branched into many more moments. They talked well into the morning, and Crowley was rather surprised, but pleased, by the girls dark humor. They settled into an easy friendship of sorts, and just as he was becoming used to the idea of staying there forever, Aziraphale showed up.

He bustled into the Inn, struggling to shut the door against the wind, and scared Crowley half to death by walking into the Inn's foyer and shaking off pounds of snow from his body.

They made eye contact and Aziraphale staggered backwards.

"Crawly, what on Earth-"

"It's Crowley." Crowley then put a finger to his lips and motioned towards the girl who was sleeping pressed against his side.

Aziraphale's eyebrows arched up considerably.

"Have you killed her?" 

Crowley balked. "You're seriously asking me did I _kill_ her? She's bloody asleep."

Aziraphale looked embarrassed.

"Well, it has been quite a few years...and you are a demon."

Crowley made a disgruntled noise. He was very happy to have the angel here, seeing as he'd become enthralled with the angel early on - he was not at the stage where he was willing to admit he was in love. But how low did the angel think of him if his first thought at seeing a sleeping girl near Crowley meant the demon had killed her.

"Ah..is it a more..sexual nature than?"

Crowley's face scrunched up in disgust.

"Good Satan, she's a _child _Aziraphale. Do I need to suggest that we spend more time together so you will stop thinking of me as a common demon?" He spat out, quietly thrilled at the idea of spending more time with the angel, but only if the angel would stop being an ass.

The angel looked ashamed now, and hesitantly stepped further into the room.

"I'm dreadfully sorry...dear. Please forgive me."

Crowley winced at the words, but shrugged and nudged the girl next to him so she would wake up and save him for this less than agreeable reunion with his angel.

"Ingeborg, we have a guest."

The girl woke up slowly, reprimanded the demon for not being nicer when waking her, and proceeded to help Aziraphale out with his own room, never once letting the ethereal or occult being know that she had heard everything. 

Aziraphale, as it turned out, had actually been sent to perform an angelic miracle on the same person that Crowley had been sent to tempt. They were at an awkward crossing now, seeing as if they performed both their miracles, they would cancel each other out.

"I don't see what the big issue is, so the guy has nothing happen to him in the end, what's _bad _about that?"

Aziraphale opened his mouth and Crowley interrupted him swiftly, "and don't say it's bad because I suggested it."

Aziraphale closed his mouth and tried another approach.

"I'm not going to disobey heavens orders. Since you're so keen on doing so, I'll just do the miracle myself."

Crowley let out a laugh. "That's not going to work either angel. This is a rather important assignment and I'm not risking discorporation." 

"But aren't you rather late now?" Aziraphale tried to counter.

"Being late is one thing, not doing it at all is another." Crowley said bitterly.

The blizzard had finally stopped, and Ingeborg had finally stopped clucking over Crowley like a mother hen. Crowley was all set to go, as was Aziraphale, but Ingeborg made them sit down for supper one last time before they went. Crowley had developed a soft spot for her, and Aziraphale couldn't resist the temptation of food. 

After dinner, Ingeborg brought in a large platter with a square pastry on it. The dough was flakey, and inside was a pale white pudding that tasted of spices and something fruity. Ingeborg cleared away the rest of the dishes from the table as Aziraphale cut a large piece and began eating.

Crowley watched in silence, a small part of him captured by the little noises that Aziraphale made as he ate. Crowley wondered how the angel could find such pleasure in something that an ethereal or an occult being didn't need, and cut himself a small slice so he could get an idea of what Aziraphale was going through.

The taste would linger for decades to come. Whenever he thought of Norway, his mouth would once again taste the sweetness and spiciness of the pudding, and the soft and butteriness of the dough.

"That is truly scrumptious." Aziraphale's eyes with twinkling with delight as he took another slice.

When he'd finished it, Crowley nudged his own half eaten portion towards him, and the angel had looked at him with surprise before giving a hesitant but tender smile and taking a bite.

"I suppose it wouldn't be too bad if we both performed our miracles, instead of letting good or evil affect the man. Waste of miracles but we're already here." Aziraphale said as he finished his fill of the pastry.

It was Crowley's turn to be surprised. 

"You're trusting me?" He squeaked out, regretting his choice of words the moment they came out.

The angel's cheeks flushed, but his voice was firm as he said, "I don't want to give you that impression. An angel can not trust a demon."

He looked wistful for a moment, then did a rather bold movement and patted the top of Crowley's hand with his own. "But I can make an exception this time."

Crowley felt the tingle of the angel's warmer hand against his colder skin and swallowed thickly.

It had been the start of Crowley's hope. The angel had trusted him for once, and had even touched him. That moment was small among the others, but it was the first. He had hoped the angel would remember that moment when he tried the pastry again, but nothing was going to stop him from getting his feelings across to the brilliantly smart but oblivious angel of his.

* * *

This time he went for things that didn't hold as much personal significance as the pastry, but were still considered kind gestures and showed he listened.

He drove fast as ever, but was more mindful of pedestrians crossing the streets, and used his turn signal when merging. He didn't yell at his plants as much, at least in front of Aziraphale, and made a habit of stopping by the bookshop during its rare moments of being open, and helped the angel scare off customers instead of doing his usual lounging in the back of the shop whilst Aziraphale dealt with all the humans.

Aziraphale was becoming more and more suspicious, but thankfully didn't say anything. He instead complimented Crowley more often, and invited the demon over to his bookshop more often than before - which was a feat.

They had gone from going decades without seeing each other, to meeting up to every day of the week.

Crowley decided to move further in his seduction, and made a reservation at the Ritz. He made sure to check a magazine on courtship that he'd seen in the local grocery store where he'd purchased all the ingredients for the pastry. He also called up Anathema for advice. They had striked up a strange friendship, and now that he had taken a trip down the Norwegian memory lane, it clicked that Anathema reminded him of Ingeborg.

Anathema had been quite helpful, and Crowley pulled in front of the bookshop on a sunny, cloud less day with a bouquet of flowers.

The lady at the flower shop had been patient enough to explain the meaning of each flower, so Crowley vowed to glue a penny outside the shop so the business would get more attention after the frustrated person who tried to pick up the penny finally gave up and saw where they'd stopped.

The flowers were as follows.

\- Red Carnation; my heart aches for you  
\- Daisy; loyal love  
\- Forget-Me-Not; true love  
\- Jonquil; love me  
\- Aster; symbol of love

Crowley walked into the shop and smiled cheerfully at the angel who was dusting at the books on the shelf closest to the door.

"Hello angel."

Aziraphale looked at the flowers that Crowley had shoved towards him and smiled.

"Why are you giving me flowers?" The angel asked, taking the flowers and bringing them to up to his nose so he could smell them.

Crowley faltered a little at the sweet look Aziraphale was giving him and he surprised them both by hissing out, "Jussst thought it wasss appropriate."

Crowley blushed with embarrassment as his mouth easily lengthened the 's'. 

Aziraphale blushed as well and snapped his finger to miracle a vase for the flowers.

"I do believe I have a book on flowers around here somewhere..." The angel murmured to himself as he placed the flowers in the vase. "What did you mean you thought it was appropriate?" He turned to look at Crowley.

"I'm here to take you on a date." There, he'd said it. He was being straight forward, even though he'd been trying to avoid that, but he had begun to wonder if maybe the subtleness of his seduction would never be noticed because he was trying to seduce the most oblivious of beings.

Anathema had pointed that out during the call.

"Ah, I see." Aziraphale said.

Crowley waited for more, but the silence stretched and he finally cleared his throat in a nervous habit and motioned towards the door.

"Ssshall we get going then?" He gave a pained smile and followed the angel out of the bookshop and into the Bentley. Of course the hissing wasn't going away.

They spent the time at the Ritz the way they always had been, with cheerful discussions and delicious foods. But this time, Crowley made it as obvious as his snake heart would allow that he was courting the angel. Aziraphale was getting more and more flustered as the evening progressed, but he never once acknowledged what Crowley was doing. 

Crowley was beginning to lose hope. His angel couldn't be that oblivious could he? or was he just trying to subtly let the demon know he wasn't interested by ignoring the things Crowley had done for him? Crowley became saddned by that thought and spent the rest of the date in a sulky silence that the angel didn't notice til they got back to the bookshop.

"Crowley?" The angel asked hesitantly.

Crowley looked away from the windshield where he'd been zoning out and said, "huh?"

"Thank you for tonight. I hope we can continue this..arraignment tomorrow." He scooted closer on the bench seat and gave a barely there kiss to Crowley's cheek before he fled the car.

Crowley sat bewildered, until a smile wide enough to make a passing person think he was looney stretched across his face. He brought a hand to the spot on his cheek where Aziraphale's lips had been and a new plan started forming.

So his angel wasn't oblivious, and the date had been a success. Now Crowley could throw caution into the wind. The fear of rejection that made him want to stick to subtleness was shoved into a corner of his mind. He was going to end this all, and start their new relationship, with a flare of the dramatic.

After all, he was a _flash bastard._

* * *

After every date, he makes sure to introduce Aziraphale to the music in the Bentley _properly._

He sets his phone down on the coffee table in the back room of the shop, and makes Aziraphale listen to music that is very clearly _not _bebop.

He will not have Aziraphale mistaking what he's doing when the time comes, because he's come this far already.

On the day that Crowley's plan will roll into action, he stands in front of the full length mirror in his bedroom and scratches his snake tattoo nervously as he takes in his image.

He is quite the opposite of his angel, besides the whole demon and angel thing. Aziraphale is round in the most delicious of ways, with thick thighs, pudgy fingers, curved ass, and soft belly. He smells like vanilla and old paperbacks, and has a twinkle in his blue eyes whenever he sees Crowley. Crowley is angular and harsh lines, slender fingers and tiny waist. He smells like burned wood and honey, and his eyes are a neon yellow that scare people away, but for some reason are a soft spot for Aziraphale. Aziraphale is always dressed in; tans, beiges, and creams, Crowley wears; dark blues and black. Crowley has spiky red hair that doesn't listen, and Aziraphale has soft white blond curls that are rounded like the rest of him.

The plan for the day is basically to act out the Queen song, _Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy. _

He thought it was quite clever. He'd watched a few youtube videos on serenading so he could grasp a firm idea of how to play it all out, and was prepared to full serenade and seduce the angel.

Crowley looked at himself in the mirror again and sighed, miracling himself into another outfit.

This time he was in a white dark blue button up with the sleeves rolled up, and a pair of black and blue checkered pants that somehow went along with his snake skin boots. He felt satisfied and left his flat for the book shop.

Aziraphale perked up when he heard the Bentley screech to a stop outside, and smoothed his hand over his stomach. Crowley had let him know a head of time that he was going to surprise the angel. The last surprise had resulted in a delightfully delicious pastry that tickled at something in the back of his memory, so he was excited to see what was next.

When Crowley walked in, Aziraphale was taken away by how _good _he looked. His sunglasses weren't anywhere to be seen which was another plus.

"Why hello Crowley. I must say you look rather dashing." He said shyly, blushing when Crowley dipped down into a bow and took Aziraphale's hand in his own and kissed the creamy white flesh.

Aziraphale's heart was fluttering madly. He'd always been aware of Crowley's feelings for him, but Aziraphale had always been overly cautious. He had a hard time trying to even admit out loud that he was friends with the wily serpent because heaven had always been right behind him, breathing down his neck and keeping him in their grips. He had faith that God would be accepting of the demon and angel, so he let himself go once the armageddon had ended. He'd grown closer to Crowley within the span of a few weeks that six thousand years together couldn't match up too.

Now Crowley was catering to him and taking him out on proper dates, courting him like a maiden in a romance novel. It was on the tip of his tongue, the words _I love you. _The words had been settled into his chest when he'd seen how torn up Crowley had been about the children during Noah's time, and the words had finally reached his throat once he'd located the book on flowers and read the meaning of the flowers Crowley had given him.

Crowley released his hand, and in greeting said "_I can dim the lights and sing you songs of sad things_." Crowley's voice was a croon, and Aziraphale was momentarily distracted by it as the demon snapped his fingers and the lights in the books shops dimmed down so their bodies were thrown into soft lighting and shadows.

"_We can do the tango just for two." _Crowley's eyes trailed down to Aziraphale's lips and the angel reflexively licked his lips. 

"Crowley." He whispered, feeling a little uncertain as what was happening but curiously wanting for it to continue. Crowley had never looked at him like that before.

"I can serenade and gently play on your heart strings, be your Valentino just for you." 

Crowley wrapped his long arms around Aziraphale's plush waist and pulled him til they were chest to chest.

"Oh," Aziraphale said, finally getting it, "bebop."

Crowley's eyebrows scrunched together in disbelief.

"Angel, we've been over this." He said in frustration. 

"Oh right, I'm terribly sorry. Velvet Underground then."

"Why are you saying that as if it's a genre of music? It's a band angel. Honestly I thought this was going to be easy, silly me." Crowley huffed.

Aziraphale pursed his lips together and rolled his eyes.

"It's _Queen, _angel. I've played this song the most out of the lot." 

"Uh-huh." The angel bit his lip, "why are you...serenading me with it then?"

Crowley huffed again and buried his head into Aziraphale's neck, making his next words muffled.

"Ssso I could be romantic and expresss to you how I feel with ssubtleness."

Aziraphale flushed. He would never let Crowley know, to spare him the dignity, but he quite liked when Crowley was unable to control his hisses.

"Too much sssubtlenessss. Ssso I decided to be direct and apparently I'm not direct enough."

Crowley unburied himself from Aziraphale's neck and seemed to come to a decision in his mind.

"I'm going to try this again, but in a language I think you'll understand more than..._bebop_." He said the last word mockingly.

Aziraphale was saddened by the loss of Crowley's arms around him as the demon backed away. The demon cleared his throat dramatically and dipped down into a bow like before, but deeper. 

"I can dim the lights and sing thee songs full of depress'd things, we can doth the tango just f'r two, I can serenade and gently playeth on thy heart strings, beest thy valentino just f'r thee."

Aziraphale was reminded of a time when a very different looking Crowley had miracled _Hamlet _into a nation wide success. His lips twitched with a smile and he let out a laugh of delight as _his _snake pulled him once again back into his arms.

"Message received." He said softly, cupping Crowley's cheeks in both hands and urging the man to continue. Aziraphale decided at that moment that Crowley had never looked more beautiful than when his face was dusted with a red blush, and his eyes were dilated like two large black lily pads in a pond of neon yellow.

"Driving back in style, in mine own saloon shall doth quite nicely." Crowley tripped over the edge of the carpet that people who entered the shop were encouraged to use to wipe their dirty feet on, and fell forward into Aziraphale.

The angel just managed to catch him an almost bridal carry, with Crowley's legs still on the floor, and his upper half cradled in Aziraphale's arms.

"Just taketh me back to yours yond shall beest fine." Crowley finished in an embarrassed tone.

"I believe you skipped over quite a few lines there." Aziraphale's eyes went cross-eyed as his gaze fell to Crowley's lips as the demon leaned upwards to be closer. 

"Well you did say message received, and I'm getting really impatient and want to kiss you _now_." Crowley said looking up at the angel.

There was a begging quality in Crowley's words and Aziraphale looked down at the demon in his arms and closed the distance between them in one smooth motion.

The kiss was sweet, soft, and much too short. Aziraphale moved in impossibly closer and kissed the demon again, loving the tiny hiss that came from deep inside Crowley's throat as the demon became all but putty in the angel's hands.

"I love you." Aziraphale said as he pulled away.

Crowley smiled manically at the news, and pulled the angel down into another kiss. His mission had succeeded, there was without a doubt now the certainty that the angel reciprocated his feelings. There had probably been a much easier way to do this but Crowley wasn't too concerned with it now as he straightened and moved his hands so they were slipping down to cup the angels bottom, as the angel's hands roamed freely through his red spiky hair.

The change in height made the angel stand on tip toes as to not break the kiss.

It did break eventually, and Aziraphale let out a sigh of delight as Crowley ran his thumb across Aziraphale's lips.

"I love you, terribly so." Aziraphale repeated.

"I know," Crowley said, and as not to sound too much like a certain space smuggler, he also said, "I love you too."


End file.
